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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26168191">Tattoos and Arrangements</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmphitriteMists/pseuds/AmphitriteMists'>AmphitriteMists</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:14:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,358</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26168191</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmphitriteMists/pseuds/AmphitriteMists</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm hoping that this becomes a collection of scenes from one human AU idea that I've had. There won't be a general plot line think of it as a slice of life so you can read this story without feeling like I left you with a huge cliffhanger if I ever decide not to continue at some point. Crowley and Aziraphale are both college students at the same university. They've shared a few classes together, but they've never actually spoken to one another until the day Crowley decides to get a tattoo...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tattoos and Arrangements</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bell on the door announced Crowley’s arrival. In the corner, an old-timey gramophone was playing a classical piece he didn’t recognize. Every wall of the tattoo studio displayed a mess of colorful artwork, the certifications of each artist hung in picture frames beside the front desk.</p><p>A young man about his age was sitting behind the desk reading a dusty old book. He didn’t look like a tattoo artist. His mop of blond curls was adorably untidy, and he was sporting a sleeveless jumper over a well-pressed dress shirt, the sleeves of which were pulled all the way down despite the unseasonable heat.</p><p>To his surprise, Crowley recognized him. “Aziraphale? Is that you?”</p><p>The man looked up, revealing bluebell eyes and a familiar smile.</p><p>“Crowley?” he said with flustered astonishment. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>Crowley snorted. “This is a tattoo shop. What else would I be doing here? Attending dance lessons?”</p><p>“Ah, the dance studio is upstairs, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale said, pointing to a door that Crowley assumed had a staircase behind it. He never would've imagined that one of the smartest men at Oxford worked at a tattoo studio. He just wasn’t the type. Aziraphale always had his head in the books, even on the weekends. Then again, a job is a job. No one would ever have guessed that Crowley worked at a local florist shop. His flaming red hair, swaggering walk, and constant use of sunglasses marked<em>him</em> as the type of person to be working at a tattoo studio.</p><p>“Is anyone available right now to—you know…” He made a series of hand gestures as if they would get the point across for him.</p><p>“Hmm, my manager just stepped out for a lunch break, and he won’t be back for another hour, since we don’t have any appointments until this afternoon,” Aziraphale said. It seemed like Crowley was about to be told to come back another time but then Aziraphale’s face lit up with excitement. “If you want I can squeeze you in right now?”</p><p>Aziraphale set down his book, took a sip of tea, and turned to the computer in front of him. “What sort of tattoo are you looking to get?”</p><p>“A snake. Right beside my ear here,” Crowley said, pointing to the spot. “Just a small one. Nothing too fancy.”</p><p>“Simple enough,” Aziraphale said, typing away. “Have you gotten a tattoo before?”</p><p>“Er, no,” Crowley admitted sheepishly.</p><p>“Well a face tattoo is going to hurt a bit more than a tattoo on your arm. At least that’s what I hear from customers. If you choose to quit, I’m not allowed to offer you a refund and you’re the one that would have to live with a half-finished tattoo on your face for the rest of your life. Are you sure that you want it in that area?”</p><p>“I’m sure,” Crowley said, trying to sound brave.</p><p>“Alright then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Aziraphale teased. He typed the information onto the computer. “Colored ink?”</p><p>“No. Just black.”</p><p>Aziraphale turned the screen so Crowley could see the different designs. He hadn’t realized there were so many ways to draw a simple animal. Some were more detailed than others and Crowley had to admire the talent it must've taken to draw scales on a creature no more than four centimeters long. But he already knew exactly what he wanted.</p><p>“Can I draw something? Is that possible?”</p><p>Aziraphale reached under his desk and took out a strange packet of paper and a pen. He handed them to Crowley. “We use this for people who want to make their own stencils. Just draw whatever design you want on the corner of the page, and I can cut it out when you’re done.”</p><p>Crowley nodded and began to sketch a snake that twisted and turned. The snake looked like it would be tangled into a knot, but Crowley was happy with the results.</p><p>“You can take a seat if you don’t want to stand,” Aziraphale said, gesturing at the empty seats in the reception area.</p><p>“No need. It’s a simple enough design,” he said as he finished shading in the head. He handed the pad of paper back to Aziraphale, who examined it with delight.</p><p>“Oh, this is nice,” he remarked. He opened a drawer and took out a pair of scissors. “Are you an art student?”</p><p>“Art history,” Crowley said. “I’m no Da Vinci, but I can manage to draw some things without them looking like absolute shit.”</p><p>“Da Vinci,” Aziraphale said. “ Quite like his work. Such a shame he’s only known for the <em>Mona Lisa.</em> I read a little bit about his inventions and studies on human anatomy, and I must say the man was a genius.”</p><p>Aziraphale finished cutting out the stencil and turned back to the computer. “All right, I’ll need payment upfront.”</p><p>Crowley handed him his credit card.</p><p>“If you’re getting a tattoo on your face, you’ll have to take off your sunglasses,” Aziraphale added as he ran the credit card through the machine.</p><p>“Right,” Crowley said nervously. He made no move to take his glasses off.</p><p>Aziraphale rose from his chair. “Follow me to the back and I’ll start setting up.”</p><p>Crowley laid down on a leather bed table. Aziraphale pulled up a stool beside him and opened a kit containing needles and other tools that Crowley didn’t recognize. He didn’t want to admit that he was scared, but Aziraphale was too attentive.</p><p>“The first timers are always nervous,” he said reassuringly as he began to slip on some latex gloves. “It’s not so bad really. I mean, I clearly don’t have a face tattoo, so I wouldn’t know exactly—”</p><p>“Do you have a tattoo?” Crowley asked. The moment he said it he wondered if the question was too rude. </p><p>“Uh,” Aziraphale said. He took a razor out of his tool kit. “I have a few. On my arms. I’m going to shave the area before we start, is that alright?”</p><p>“I already shaved it this morning. Did a little research before coming here and thought I’d might as well be prepared,” Crowley said, still brimming with curiosity. “Must be something embarrassing, your tattoo, huh? I’ve never seen you without long sleeves.”</p><p>Aziraphale swiped out the razor for an alcohol wipe. “Not exactly. They’re just a bit personal. It’s silly really. Can you turn over please? Won’t be a mo- I just need to clean up the spot.”</p><p>But Crowley didn’t get the hint. Once he asked a question, he needed the answer. “I won’t laugh or tell anyone if that’s what you’re so worried about.”</p><p>“I know, my dear,” Aziraphale said. He didn’t elaborate further.</p><p>Crowley sighed and turned his head to the side.</p><p>“The glasses?” Aziraphale reminded him.</p><p>“Ngk.” He closed his eyes, removed his sunglasses, and handed them to Aziraphale without looking up. He heard the glasses being set down on the work table. The wipe felt cold when it came down on his skin. After a little bit of rubbing, Aziraphale got up to find a trash bin.</p><p>“Why do you wear them all the time?” Aziraphale asked, when he came back.</p><p>“Wear what?”</p><p>“The glasses,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you take them off.”</p><p>“It’s a bit personal,” Crowley said smugly.</p><p>A ring of laughter escaped from Aziraphale’s throat. “Yes, I rather deserved that.”</p><p>Crowley listened to him fiddle with some of the tools. He waited for Aziraphale to press further, maybe offer up his tattoo story in exchange for Crowley’s sunglasses story, but he said nothing.</p><p>“Alright, I think it looks about dry, I’m going to add the stencil. I need you to stay perfectly still and relax your face.”</p><p>Crowley did as he was told. The piece of paper he'd drawn on earlier was placed lightly onto his face. He felt what he assume was a marker being used to label the edges of the stencil. Then, the stencil was removed and a drop of gooey substance hit his cheek. Aziraphale’s gloved hand smeared it around and let it dry for a minute. Then, once again, he laid the stencil paper onto Crowley’s face.</p><p>“I’m going to start now,” Aziraphale said. “Are you ready?”</p><p>“No, but you’d best get on with it before I lose my nerve completely,” Crowley said.</p><p>The needle scratched his skin and Crowley bit his lip. It was less painful than he was expecting, but it wasn’t pleasant either. Still, he felt silly for acting so scared. Aziraphale worked fast, his expert hands knowing exactly how to work the needle. It was a small tattoo and it was over in a matter of minutes. He heard Aziraphale place the tools back on the table before taping a thin plastic wrap onto Crowley's cheek.</p><p>“This was my first time doing a snake, but I think it looks lovely, my dear,” Aziraphale said approvingly. “Leave the wrap on for about an hour. After that, wash the area with warm, soapy water. Do not apply any cream or moisturizer for at least twenty-four hours. Don’t sunbathe or swim for two weeks. Don’t pick or scratch the tattoo and don’t wear anything that will rub on it. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that means no sunglasses.”</p><p>“What?!” Crowley turned to him in shock and immediately regretted it.</p><p>“Your eyes,” Aziraphale gasped.</p><p>Crowley waited for him to hurl an insult like everyone else in his life had, but his expression was all wrong. Aziraphale’s face was full of interest and fascination not disgust.</p><p>“They’re beautiful.”</p><p>“Huh?” Crowley frowned. Surely, this had to be some trick, the calm before the storm.</p><p>“They’re the color of marigolds or two perfect spoonfuls of rich custard. Crowley, I don’t know why you’re so ashamed of them.”</p><p>Crowley’s face flushed. “It’s not a normal color. I wish I had blue or brown eyes like everyone else. My classmates used to think that I looked unnatural because of them. I was Cat-Eyed Crowley all through primary school.”</p><p>Before entering high school, his family moved to another city and he made the teachers there believe that his eyes were overly-sensitive. He even forged a doctor’s note exempting him from taking his glasses off in class. Thankfully, none of his college professors cared whether or not he chose to wear sunglasses during lectures so hiding his eyes has been simple these days.</p><p>“People grow up. I’m sure no one will care if you take them off now,” Aziraphale said, staring at him with concern.</p><p>“My roommate, Hastur, caught a glimpse of them a few months ago when I was raiding the kitchen at night. He thought I was wearing colored contacts and, when I told him I wasn’t, he laughed. He said he finally understood why I’ve always covered them up. These eyes aren’t beautiful, they’re repulsive.”</p><p>Aziraphale shook his head. Crowley expected him to finally concede and put away the false compliments he had been trying to hand out earlier. Instead, Aziraphale rolled up his right sleeve. Starting just above his wrists, a mural of eyes snaked up his arm. They were all different sizes and colors. Some were more simple and cartoonish while others were so detailed that they could almost pass as realistic. Aziraphale rolled up his other sleeve to reveal a similar display of eyes, but with empty patches showing that there was still room for him to add more.</p><p>“They started as a joke,” Aziraphale explained. “My boss used to say that every artist has an Achilles’ heel, something that they just can’t draw correctly no matter how much they tried. He told me that my Achilles’ heel were eyes. He was right, of course, but it still hurt.”</p><p>He pointed to a spot in the middle of his left arm where a round circle with a single black pupil stared out mockingly. It looked more like a white and black fish egg than an eyeball. “This was the first tattoo I ever gave myself. After a while, it sort of became an obsession. I practiced drawing eyes in sketchbooks and loose notebook paper until I started to get pretty good at it. Occasionally, when I feel like I’ve made some improvements, I add another eye to my arm. I never meant to have a sleeve of them, but I don’t regret having them because they show how far I’ve come. Plus, they’re a huge ‘fuck you’ to my boss. He still can’t draw insects. Not even a tiny fly.”</p><p>“Why do you cover them up, then?” Crowley asked.</p><p>“For the same reason you cover your eyes: others find them strange looking,” Aziraphale shrugged. He began to roll down his sleeve, but Crowley reached out to stop him. His arms were pleasantly warm compared to Crowley’s own icy fingertips. He wasn’t ready for Aziraphale to roll down his sleeves and hide behind his golden boy aesthetic. There, on his arms, was a blend of Aziraphale’s pride and mistakes and Crowley wanted to keep seeing this side of him.</p><p>“Do you want to get a bite to eat sometime?” Crowley blurted out.</p><p>Aziraphale smiled and patted his hand. “My dear, I’d love that very much. There’s a new coffee shop that just opened up near Trinity that I’ve been meaning to try. Are you free tomorrow?”</p><p>“Er,” Crowley said. He thought about coming up with some lame excuse as to why he couldn’t go. His glasses were still resting on the table next to the tattoo equipment. Maybe Aziraphale was right and his eyes weren’t nearly as bad as he’d come to believe, but there was still that overwhelming sense of fear wrapping its tentacles around his head.</p><p>Aziraphale seemed to understand. He picked up the glasses and handed them over to Crowley. “You can start wearing these again in fifteen to thirty days. The scar should be in its final stages of healing by then.”</p><p>Crowley took them and shoved them into his pocket, knowing that he was just too impatient to wait that long. “Do you need a ride to the coffee shop, or do you fancy taking a stroll?”</p>
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